


The Velvet Box

by Monker



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coulson in love, F/M, Level 7, Multi-Chapter story, Phil Coulson's Cellist, Portland is a magical place, Sad Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:04:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monker/pseuds/Monker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye discovers something shocking in Coulson's desk drawer. When she confronts him about it later, he reveals a tragic story no one was prepared to hear. Spoiler: Minor reference to events from episode 3 "The Asset." Coulson/Cellist pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Velvet Box

**Author's Note:**

> Minor mention of Season One, Episode Three: The Asset. Not much of a spoiler, though. Decent spoiler for The Avengers, but then, this entire show is a spoiler for The Avengers. So I'm not too worried about that. Skye is still very new to the team here, so you could figure this story takes place sometime shortly after Eye Spy.  
> Okay, deep breath in...deep breath out...here we go!

"Which pocket?" Simmons asked, dangling the field pack from its handle and rotating it back and forth, examining the many pouches and zippers.

"Front," came Fitz' absent-minded reply. He was bent over his magnifying glass, meticulously trying to apply one tiny piece of machinery to another. His hands were perfectly calm as he manipulated the tweezers.

Simmons opened the pocket and reached inside, casting a worried glance over her shoulder at the vial. It continued to steam, and the fumes coming off of it were already starting to turn a soft shade of green. She dug around the pocket impatiently and finally huffed in frustration. "It's not in here," she said.

"I said, 'front pocket,'" Fitz restated, not looking up from his project.

"Fitz! How many front pockets do you think there are? I looked in the front pocket, and the key's not there! Where did you have it last?"

Fitz rolled his eyes and sighed as he gingerly set down his tweezers and walked over to Simmons. "I had it last in _this_ pocket. Exactly as I said," he snapped, jerking the field pack away from his partner and reaching his hand into the front pocket.

Simmons just crossed her arms expectantly.

Fitz' brows lowered in confusion. "Well...where is it?" he said to himself, holding the pocket open and looking inside. He started pulling several small items out from the pack and placing them on the silver worktable.

Simmons smirked in satisfaction as Fitz struggled to find the key. Then, remembering her plight, she looked over at the vial again. "Oh, _Fitz_!" she exclaimed, rushing over to her work station in a worried fit. "This material is highly unstable. The reactor charge to the hydraulic equilibrium is _much_ too over-stimulated. It needs a pacifier substance, _now_. Where is the key to the cabinet?"

"I don't know," Fitz responded in earnest, emptying every pocket in his field pack. "It was here just the other day!"

Skye, who had been keeping quiet on the other side of the room, looked up from her laptop when she heard the voices around her grow in desperation. Also, hearing Simmons ask for a pacifier for her experiment put pictures of vials and beakers sucking on baby pacifiers in Skye's head, which made her laugh a little on the inside.

"What's going on?" the hactivist asked.

The two scientists ignored the question and continued to search for a solution.

"Maybe it's in your trouser pockets."

"Wouldn't be in these ones," Fitz said as he checked his pockets anyway. "I haven't been in the chemical cabinet all day."

Simmons looked back at the vial. It was starting to foam now. She turned the heater to the off position. She hated cutting off the experiment that way, but she wasn't willing to risk having the substance overflow. Turning off the heat might not actually keep that from happening, but it might slow the process at least. "Quickly, Fitz. Think!"

"I _am_ thinking!" the Scotsman said, beginning to pace back and forth in the laboratory, clutching his head with both hands.

"Is there not a spare key somewhere?" Skye offered.

"Yes!" Fitz spun around and pointed directly at her. "Agent Coulson. He has-"

"-a master key," Simmons finished. "Brilliant! It opens everything on this bus. It should be in his desk. Fitz!"

But he was already headed for the door. "Right," he said, "on it!"

Just then, the bus hit some turbulence and jostled everyone slightly. Fitz practically dove towards his worktable to keep his machinery from falling off and scattering across the floor.

Skye took that as her cue. "No, _I'm_ on it," she said, putting her laptop down and hastening towards the door.

"Thank you, Skye!" Simmons called. "And hurry!"

Skye took the stairs heading up to Coulson's office two at a time. She did stop at the door and gave a few fervent knocks, just in case he was inside. When she didn't receive an answer, she just went in.

The office was empty. She had been in that room only twice before, and the first time, she didn't even get to go in all the way. The elegant design and soft lighting made the room feel cold and inviting at the same time. Hesitantly, she walked fully into the room. She felt like a kid breaking into her high school principal's office, like Coulson was going to come in any minute and suspend her or something.

But she also remembered how desperate FitzSimmons were to have that key, so she quickly made her way to the large wooden desk at the back of the room. Stubbing her toe slightly on the edge of the desk, she cursed quietly and fell into the chair, almost knocking over Coulson's aircraft model in the process. She straightened a few of the items she had disturbed and quietly started rummaging through the desk.

When she opened the second drawer, she halted with a quiet gasp. A few small objects came sliding forward to the front of the drawer, one of which was the ring of keys. But that wasn't what had shocked her.

Slowly, timidly, she reached into the desk and pulled out a small, black, velvet box.

She turned it over in her hands, examining it, wondering if it might not be what she obviously thought it was, wondering if she could resist the urge to open it and find out.

She couldn't.

Glancing up at the door to make sure the coast was clear, Skye silently cracked open the box. Again, her breath caught in her throat when she saw the ring inside. It was a beautiful, princess cut diamond, resting in a four-pronged white-gold setting. The band was simple apart from a delicate braiding that reached up to cradle the precious stone. The diamond was radiant and colorless, casting a shimmering reflection of light across Skye's neck. It was simple yet exquisite, and probably cost Agent Coulson a pretty penny.

With that thought, Skye snapped the box closed again. A sickening feeling crawled around in her stomach as she suddenly felt like she had just read someone's diary. She had just snooped into what was probably Coulson's most privately intimate possession on this plane, and the resulting sensation was one of guilt and regret.

She carefully put the box back in the drawer, retrieved the keys, and then returned the desk to the way she had found it. But even as she handed the keys to a grateful Simmons a few moments later, she couldn't shake the image of that gorgeous ring from her mind.

It wasn't until a few days later that Skye realized what bothered her so much about seeing the ring. It wasn't just the fact that she felt guilty and had a hard time looking Coulson in the face after that. It also brought to mind something Ian Quinn had said while she was undercover at his party. He said that SHIELD targeted recruits who were unconnected, alone and without families to tie them down. If that were true, then it seemed a little hypocritical for one of their top agents to be pursuing marital bliss with some mystery bride.

Skye herself never really had much of a family, but that wasn't really to say that she never _wanted_ one. Underneath that tough, I-can-do-anything exterior of a rogue computer hacker who was used to lonely nights in a crummy van, there was still a part of Skye that liked the idea of a strong husband and a few adorable children. If SHIELD was interested in cutting that kind of life off for their subordinate personnel, then maybe she should rethink her dedication to joining this little group.

"What does SHIELD policy say about family?" she asked suddenly. The question had been plaguing her for the past several days and she was ready for a solid answer. Since the whole team happened to be assembled in the eating quarters for a rare moment, she thought now would be the perfect time to ask.

Ward looked up from his reading with a cocked eyebrow. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean: what does SHIELD think about their agents getting married and having kids and stuff like that." She looked discretely over at Coulson as she asked the question, but the senior agent didn't seem to flinch as he spread some peanut butter onto a piece of toast.

Ward, on the other hand, looked caught off guard and more than a little uncomfortable by the mention of marriage and children. "It's generally discouraged, but not totally forbidden," he said simply.

"But why's it discouraged at all? Seems kind of harmless to me," she said, glancing over at Fitz and Simmons for moral support. But the two scientists stayed silent.

Agent Malinda May spoke up as she sat down, "Having emotional connections to something like a family is a huge liability for an agent. Bullets and punches are only a few of the ways our enemies try to take us down. Hostiles love to target the innocent, especially when those innocents are the loved-ones of an operative. Even when a physical injury won't be able to ground an agent, emotional and psychological injuries incurred from the death of a family member can often take someone out of the field. Our enemies know this."

"Not to mention," Ward added, "opening yourself up for romantic connections is the easiest way to be compromised as an agent. The first strategy in any covert take-down is always to form a personal connection with your target. Every agent is on high alert when on the job, but on a date, those defenses fall a lot more easily. You'd be surprised how many good agents have been compromised because they got involved with the wrong person. As 'harmless' as they may seem, you never know who you can trust."

"So, what," Skye replied, "there's some sort of celibacy clause in the fine print of SHIELD recruitment forms? Families are just off limits?"

"Like I said, it's not official, but it's discouraged."

"Well, it sounds more like a monastery than a government organization," she said, clearly unhappy with this answer.

"They're right, though," Coulson finally said. "We operate in a very dangerous and high profile environment on a daily basis. Having a family complicates that and puts an agent's own emotional stability as risk. If you want to be a SHIELD agent, it's a factor you need to consider. This life isn't very compatible with dating and marriage."

Skye couldn't help but scoff, "Says the man who's about to propose." The words were out of her mouth before she even realized they left her head. As if in a choreographed movement, five pairs of eyebrows leapt towards the ceiling. Slowly, Ward, May, and FitzSimmons all looked from the hacker over to their commanding officer. Skye flung her own hand over her mouth in shock.

Coulson merely squinted at her in confusion. "What?" he asked, ignoring the stunned expressions coming at him from his entire team.

Skye sighed, clearly needing to offer some sort of explanation. She knew "never mind" wouldn't cut it at this point. "The other day," she began sheepishly, "FitzSimmons needed a key out of your desk, so I went to go find it."

It took a second, and Coulson glanced away slightly in thought; but just a whisper of a moment later, realization dawned on Coulson's features and he suddenly snapped his attention back onto Skye. The shock was evident on his face.

"I found a ring in your desk drawer," she went on. It was mostly just to clarify for the others in the room, because the look in Coulson's eyes told Skye he already knew exactly what she had seen.

The muscles in Coulson's jaw clenched and he looked away from the group suddenly, standing to take his recently used butter knife to the sink. He turned on the water and started scrubbing the peanut butter from the blade.

"It looked like an engagement ring."

Coulson turned his head slightly in acknowledgement of Skye's words, but he didn't turn around. Not yet. He just kept scrubbing, clearly buying time before he would have to answer her accusation. Everyone else waited quietly and watched the peculiar actions of their leader. When the knife was washed, dried, and put away in its drawer, Coulson finally turned around to face his team again.

He placed both hands on the cool surface of the table and sighed. "You should have asked me for the key," he said quietly, "I could have gotten it for you."

Skye grimaced at the soft tone of defeat and sadness in his voice. She should have never opened that drawer. Any explosion that happened in the lab would have been worth it if it meant that Coulson wouldn't be looking at her with those cool, disappointed eyes right now. "I'm really sorry," she said at last, meaning every word of it.

Again, Coulson sighed as he retook his seat, shoving the plate of toast gently away. "What you saw was, in fact, and engagement ring. I do not, however, have any intention of proposing with it anytime soon. It's..." his brow furrowed, "Well...it's something of a leftover. From a past relationship."

"You guys broke up?" Skye found herself asking. She glanced over at Ward and received a silent shake of the head, the kind that meant 'quit while you're ahead, kid.'

But Coulson didn't seem to balk at the question. "Not exactly. Things were good." A small smile tugged at his lips from the memory. "They were very good, in fact. And I think she would have married me when I asked her. I had the night all planned out." Something happened then, and Coulson's gaze was taken somewhere far away.

No one budged. No one breathed. They let the silence draw out as long as Coulson needed it to. They waited while that unspoken memory flashed before his eyes like an old film reel. The whole team wanted to know what had happened, how it had all been ruined; but the look from Ward had effectively shut their mouth-piece. So everyone simply waited in silence, seeing if Coulson would continue on his own.

He did.

When he was able to pull himself free from whatever rapturous memory had taken him, Coulson glanced around the room. "Then work called me away. Code Orange with Project Pegasus, which escalated quickly," he said simply. "And, well..." Coulson looked at Skye with a sad smile. "She wasn't level seven."

"Wait, so..." surprisingly, this interjection came from Ward. "She still thinks you're dead?"

Coulson nodded. "She has to. She's a civilian and wasn't cleared to know about most of what my job entailed. There were a lot of people who died during the Battle of New York and, as far as she's concerned, I was one of them. After my recovery, SHIELD couldn't stand the risk that news of my survival might make it back to the Avengers or anyone else without the clearance to know, so I was reassigned to a mobile operation that would keep me moving and away from ties to the past."

Skye shook her head in disbelief. "But, that's not fair. You haven't been allowed to see her to talk to her or anything? She still has no idea?"

Coulson offered another sad smile. "Being with her now is more dangerous than it used to be. We would never be able to go back to the way things were before I was wounded. It's better for her if she just thinks I'm gone."

Coulson paused for a long time and his jaw clenched again. For a second, Skye wondered if he might actually cry. But after taking a few moments to compose himself, Coulson finished. "I'd rather know she's moving on with her life than imagine her constantly waiting for me to come home. Especially since I know that can never happen... It's for the best."

The last four words were delivered with more of a tremor in his voice than Coulson would have liked. He grabbed the, now cold, piece of toast and stood from the table. He couldn't stay there any longer. He needed to get out from under the melancholy gazes of his team. He needed to be alone.

"So, in my experience, Skye," he said before exiting, "love is a risky game to play in this line of work. You have to measure the pain against the joy. Decide if it's worth it."

Coulson walked around the table and started heading out the door. All the remaining team members were left motionless and in deep thought. Their chief officer had never been so vulnerable with them before, never shared anything so private. They were both honored that he would be so free with them, and somber at what he had shared. Everyone felt they ought to say something to him, but no one had words they could say. No one, that is, except for Skye.

Right before the senior agent was totally gone, Skye asked, "So is it?"

Agent Coulson halted in the doorway.

Skye turned in her seat to look at the agent's hung head and tense shoulders. "Is it worth it?"

A moment ticked by. Coulson sighed once more and then lifted his head. Without a word, he simply walked forward and let the door swing silently closed behind him.


	2. Who was she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up immediately where the last left off. I had decided to bring up the timeline slightly to have the story take place sometime after Season One, Episode Four, "Eye Spy." Mostly, this is just so that I can have Skye refer to Coulson as AC. That's honestly the only reason for it. 
> 
> Also, PLEASE read the Author's Note at the end of this chapter. It is extremely important. But for now, onto the chapter!
> 
> Deep breath in...deep breath out...here we go!

After a while, things returned to normal as everyone continued their respective meals and Fitz and Ward struck up a conversation. Skye was noticeably silent after Coulson's exit. The head agent usually had such a calm and blasé attitude about most things, even when encountering gods and aliens. But talking about this mystery woman, suddenly something appeared in Coulson's eyes that Skye had never seen there before: vulnerability. She was entrapped by wondering who this woman could have possibly been, to break through that ever-composed, ever-unfazed exterior of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best man.

Slipping away from the conversation unnoticed, Skye left the kitchen and instantly saw the senior agent sitting at the bar in the main living area. That bar was one of her favorite features of the bus. She and Ward had made good use of it many times already, and she had even seen Agents May and FitzSimmons enjoy a few drinks from it. But she had never seen Agent Coulson avail himself of the many brands of liquor behind that bar. She had just assumed that AC must not be much of a drinker, but now she stood corrected. 

She approached him slowly, not wanting to scare him off again, and watched as he topped off his own glass of brandy. She came to stand beside him, knowing that he must be aware of her presence by now.

Truth is, he was. But he pretended not to notice her. He wanted her to go away, but he wasn't feeling abrasive enough to come right out and say it.

Skye settled into the seat next to him. "So," she said gently, swiveling the chair around so she could lean back and rest her elbows on the bar behind her. He still didn't make eye contact. "What was her name?"

Something pinched in Coulson's heart at the sound of the question. He couldn't shake the image of the woman's face from his mind, and the blissful sensation that image once evoked was now a dark imitation of its former self. A beautiful, but simmering pain. He grimaced at the feeling and sent another dosage of alcohol down his throat. "What difference does it make?" he asked bitterly, lowering the glass to the bar.

Skye paused slightly after that response. She wondered if she should take the obvious hint and just leave the man alone. But, Skye had never been very good at giving up. She retrieved a coaster from its holder and slid it across the bar, tapping it lightly against the base of Coulson's glass.

Coulson stared at the coaster, fighting so hard to stay in his melancholy mood. But then he glanced up to meet Skye's soft smile, and his own common smirk soon found its place again. "Alys," he answered quietly, placing his glass onto the coaster. "Alys Simon." Just saying the name was like having a warm, familiar breeze wash over his face. He hated it and loved it at the same time. 

Skye smiled softly at the sound of rapture in his voice. That was an invitation, right? She could ask another question? She decided to bet on it. "What was she like?" It was vague, but it turned out to be the only prompt he needed.

Now it was Coulson's turn to smile. "She was..." He shook his head lightly as every possible description flooded his mind and was instantly discarded for failure to do justice. How could he answer that? "God," he exclaimed, covering his eyes with one hand and holding it there for a few seconds, before dragging it down his face. He tried again. "She was...beautiful. And funny," his smile grew. "She used to tell this story about when she was a little girl and her parents bought her a couch for her birthday." He shook his head and laughed.

"A couch?" Skye repeated, smirking with a cocked eyebrow.

"Yeah," he replied, the pitch of his voice higher than usual due to his laughter. "It was hysterical. But she told it better than I could." He chuckled a few more times before letting the moment pass.

"So, what else?" Skye asked, loving getting to see this side of her boss.

Coulson's brows arched as he inhaled, rotating the glass of brandy on the coaster. "Well, she was a musician. Played the cello. Listening to her play was like..." again, he shook his head as words failed him. "It touched you, you know? More so than music usually can. It sounded fresh and rejuvenating, but...ancient at the same time. Like...like if the oldest, most vibrant tree in the world could sing, it would sound like Alys on the cello."

Skye's eyes lit up at the description, and her smile steadily grew to cover even more of her face. "Wow, AC, you're a poet," she teased, slapping his shoulder lightly.

Coulson just shrugged with a smile. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed talking about Alys, but the conversation was quickly growing on him. "She was small, but feisty. Had enough sass to go toe-to-toe with Stark if she ever wanted to." A small pause. "She was an awful cook, though. I mean, really, really bad. She caught one of my dish rags on fire just trying to boil water. I taught her how to make macaroni and cheese once and she thought I was some genius chef," he smirked at the memory. "She loved cookies. But, she wouldn't bite into them. She just, tore off little bite-sized pieces and ate those. It was really cute."

Skye was pretty sure that was the first time she ever heard the word "cute" come out of his mouth. But something about the way he said it was very endearing. "Was she smart?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," he said, scowling and giving a small shake of the head. His motion didn't seem to negate his answer though, only punctuate it. "She was incredibly smart. We would have trivia tournaments against each other all the time, usually while driving, mostly about World War Two. She was really smart. And...shrewd. She never missed a thing." 

His expression darkened slightly as he raised the glass to his lips again. "She had so many questions. I could see it in her eyes. She wondered about my job. A lot. I would disappear for weeks at a time, and then come home, completely exhausted, sometimes sporting a few new scars and some fresh bruises. And she would notice every one of them. I think she kept a count in her head."

Skye looked from the agent's distant eyes down to his cleanly cut suit. It occurred to her that she had never seen Coulson in anything but his trademark two piece suit. The man always looked so dapper and well kempt, more like a banker than a secret agent. Even with the few times she had seen him in action, Coulson had managed little more than to wrinkle his jacket and loosen his tie. And yet, seeing the darkness in his eyes now, she didn't doubt that he had many scars hidden beneath those layers of wool and cotton, and she was equally sure that each one of them came with its own demons. 

Unaware of any running internal commentary from Skye, Coulson's own thoughts were fixed on a single memory: the deep concentration in Alys' eyes as she traced the scars lightly with her middle finger, the crudely healed skin tissue forming rivers and lakes across his bare chest. Her brow would furrow. Her lips would twitch. "But she never said a word," Coulson continued. "Not a single question. I knew she wanted to ask, though. I knew it, just as well as she knew I couldn't answer. But the next time I would head out the door for a mission, she would beg me to be careful, and she'd kiss me a littler harder." 

Coulson gulped and looked down at his glass, which was now almost empty. "I still remember the kiss before New York," he said quietly, forgetting now that Skye was even listening. "She told me to be careful...I told her I would..." He exhaled a shaky breath and, this time, Skye was certain of the rim of moisture she saw building in his eyes. He brought a fist up and pinned it against his lips, breathing noisily against his knuckles for a few breaths, fighting so hard to keep that line from snapping somewhere deep within him. "As I was laying there, listening as Fury tried to order me to live, the only thing I could think of was, that...Alys was going to be so pissed when I came home with a new scar." He tried to smile, but the small smirk lacked its usual presence, so he let it drop back into a soft frown. "Guess I got out of that one," he said, lifting the glass to his lips once more and draining what liquid was left. 

Skye bit her lip in an effort to not cry. She had never seen Coulson like this before, and it was breaking her heart. She couldn't help but grieve for this poor woman, too. She would have had no way of knowing that she would lose Coulson the moment that door closed. And the worst part was, she hadn't really lost him...but she would never know that. Not if S.H.I.E.L.D. had anything to say about it. If Skye had not already been flooded with intense sympathy from Coulson's story, that sympathy would have likely been replaced with a generous dose of anger and indignation. But at that moment, all she could really think about was the unabashed anguish in Coulson's face, and the building pressure of her own tears wanting to spill out.

With a subtle gulp, she composed herself and tried to brighten the conversation once again. "She sounds like a really wonderful woman," Skye said sincerely with a slow nod.

For the first time in several long minutes, Coulson looked over at Skye. "She was," he affirmed gratefully, nodding in return.

Skye couldn't quite bring herself to smile yet, but she gave a little something that was close and asked, "Where is she now?"

"She lives in Portland, Oregon. Works as the principal cellist for the Oregon Symphony Orchestra. But she's in Pittsburg right now, wrapping up a brief tour on the east coast." Coulson gave a small, sheepish smile. "I sort of keep tabs," he confessed.

Skye returned the smile now. For some reason, that revelation didn't surprise her in the slightest. "Don't you ever think about swinging by with the bus?"

"Are you kidding?" Coulson responded. "I think about it constantly." He stood and walked around to the back of the bar, taking his empty glass and rinsing it in the small sink. "But it can never happen," he finished, proud of the composure he now showed. "Like I said, it's best if she just thinks I'm gone."

The young hacker just sat there in silence after that. There was no doubt. This man was in love. Skye had been in a lot of relationships before, and a few of them were even pretty serious. But sitting there, hearing Phil Coulson describe this woman, Skye saw a new definition of that little four letter word she thought she knew once. She wondered if there would ever be a man who could describe her like this, with that soft, diligent tone of affection in his voice and that unwavering twinkle of love in his eyes. 

As she watched him clean and dry the glass, and return both it and the bottle of brandy to their respective locations, one thing became undoubtedly clear to Skye. It was going to be time for the bus to make a trip to the west coast very soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: The character of Alys Simon is by far one of the greatest original characters in the Marvel fanfiction universe, and I do not hesitate in the slightest to admit that I did not create her. She is used here with the permission of her creator, ConcertiGrossi. If you'd like to read more about Alys Simon, and learn the back-story between her and Coulson, I would strongly encourage you to read ConcertiGrossi's Avengers fic, "Second Fiddles." (Not sure if it's available on Ao3, but you can find it on ff.net) Chapters 1-5 of that story are the imagined history behind this story. Reading it isn't necessary for reading this story, but it might give you a good context for this and later chapters. And beyond all of that, it's just a fabulous read. I'd encourage you all it give it is a look sometime soon. And once again, a massive thanks to ConcertiGrossi for sharing her character with me.


	3. Proximity

Surprisingly, it had not been as hard to convince the rest of the team as Skye had anticipated. Even May only took about an hour to decide. The experienced agent was the only one among the crew who had known Phil Coulson before New York, and she had seen the change those events had made in him. Melinda May wasn't sure if seeing this woman was going to help him heal. But, the Cavalry was well aware that remedies for having one's life torn apart were not exactly "over the counter prescriptions," so one had to get creative with ways to alleviate the pain. Who knows, maybe the damage done to Phil's heart was just as metaphorical as it was physical, and maybe seeing this woman would help _those_ scars to  heal somehow.

Ward was the hardest to convince. He wasn't a fan of bringing things from the personal sphere into the professional sphere, and he wasn't sure that Coulson's reaction would be exactly what Skye was hoping for. "Don't you think there's a reason he's never shared any of this before?" Ward had asked. "He doesn't want people getting into his business." 

"But don't you think there's a reason he's sharing it all now?" Skye argued. "I think he needs this, and I think he knows it, too. You should have seen him, Ward. He looked so...broken. Haven't you ever been broken before?" 

Ward sighed and pursed his lips slightly at the question. Of course he had. But he didn't say so. He just let the silence answer for him. 

"Then, you understand," she observed. 

Another long silence passed. "And you really think this will help?" he asked, looking her firmly in the eye. 

Skye returned the gaze unwaveringly, "I know it will." 

After that, all that had to happen was to find an excuse to go to Oregon. Easy, right? 

May periodically searched the SHIELD database of ongoing missions for anything that could put them in the neighborhood. One week later, she found that a Person Of Interest on SHIELD's watch list had recently moved to Portland. It was almost too perfect. May told HQ that Phil was choosing this op, and she told Phil that HQ assigned it. They would go to Portland, find the POI, and establish surveillance for a few days to insure that he hadn't made the move in order to associate with any badies. 

In the meantime, Skye had already tracked down a certain miss Alys Simon and had learned her concert schedule. Not long after that, Skye, Ward and Coulson were in the short-bus headed to an outdoor concert arena for "recognizance." 

"Update, Simmons," Coulson ordered, looking over his shoulder at the traffic as he turned on his blinker to merge. 

"The POI is reportedly in the supermarket shops just up the road," Simmons said over the radio. The scientist wasn't usually a very good liar, and Skye made a mental note to commend her later for that convincing report. 

Coulson pulled the van into the large parking lot and parked, turning off the engine. Skye had helped to point out the perfect parking spot, one that had an excellent view of the submerged stage and arena seating. A large sign read, "Oregon Symphony Orchestra Benefit Concert Tonight! 6pm - 8pm." But the senior agent's eyes never moved towards the sign or the stage. They were glued on the entrances to the many shops to his left. 

Skye moved forward to the front of the van to peer out the windshield at the concert arena. The musicians were already gathering around the stage, even though it was only four o'clock. Skye assumed they were about to start practicing. She scanned the group of musicians, but it didn't take long to find the one. 

Coulson was right whenever he called her small. Her cello was almost as tall as she was. The woman was probably even shorter than Skye. She had dark hair that reached down to her shoulders and was sprinkled lightly with silver streaks. Her face was soft and kind-looking as she laughed at something an oboist had just said to her. She didn't have supermodel good looks, but she was very lovely. And knowing that this woman held the heart of such a special man, it made her seem all the more beautiful to Skye. 

Skye nudged Ward and gestured towards the stage. He saw the woman after just a few seconds and nodded back to Skye. They each waited to see if their commanding officer would notice on his own. Skye had half expected some sort of "lover's radar" to blip somewhere inside Coulson as soon as they got close enough, but the agent seemed to be genuinely aloof. He peered out his driver-side window with a discrete pair of binoculars, keeping his eyes peeled for their assigned POI. 

Skye nudged Ward again and her S.O. just looked at her stunned, as if to say, 'What? This is your thing, remember?' But Skye continued to push him until Ward finally cleared his throat. "Umm, sir?" he asked. 

"Hmm," Coulson responded, pulling away from his binoculars and passing a glance over at the other agent. Ward simply pointed towards the stage. Coulson's eye-line followed direction of the point, and he was soon looking at the many musicians around the small outdoor stage. "What?" he asked, wondering if their POI was somewhere in that crowd. A split second later, his heart stopped. 

He gave an audible gasp and leaned back in his driver's seat. His mouth hung open lightly and his eyes were glued to a single face amongst the crowd. There she was. There she actually was. He was only a few yards away. His heart felt like someone had clenched it in a pair of vice grips and his breath got lost on its way through his lungs. He was flooded with a confusing array of emotions. He wanted to leap out of the vehicle and run to her with all the haste he could muster. He wanted to drive far away from that place and forget he had ever seen her. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted to see those eyes. He wanted to kiss her. 

He wanted to hide. 

"Whose idea was this?" he asked sternly. 

Skye and Ward just arched their eyebrows. That wasn't the response they had expected. Well...maybe Ward had. 

Not really needing an answer, Coulson's eyes leapt up to the rearview mirror and locked immediately with Skye's in the reflection. He gave her one of his very best Coulson-scowls and watched as she shrunk back into the van slightly. "Why?" he demanded. 

Skye was at a loss. "I don't know," she said after a few awkward, and miserably failed, attempts at speech. "I just thought-" 

"Nope!" Coulson interrupted, sinking deeper into his seat and bringing a hand up to shade his eyes conscientiously. "Nope, you definitely didn't do that! Don't you understand what could happen if she sees me?" 

"She won't see you. She has no reason to look over here."

"Still!" Coulson exclaimed. "This is a bad idea. This is a _really_ bad idea." He reached to the ignition and started the car again. 

"No, Coulson," Skye lunged forward and placed a hand on his arm, keeping him from putting the vehicle in gear. "Just wait, okay? She's starting to play," she said softly. 

Coulson froze, eyes glued to the gearshift. He shot a subtle glance up over the dashboard and back to the stage. There was his girl, taking her seat at the front of the stage and poising her bow above her strings. Every ounce of his being knew that it was a bad idea to stay. But almost as though on autopilot, he reached over to his door, and rolled down his window. He turned off the car to quiet the sound of the engine. And he waited. 

The sound was faint. It was soft at the beginning of the piece and slowly grew in intensity. Alys was the only one playing for the first sixteen measures, and those sixteen measures instantly brought tears to Coulson's eyes. The moaning from her instrument was morose and deep, and Phil felt as though he was having his mind read by the thing. Then the melody climbed to sweet, higher notes, offering the question of optimism as the orchestra joined the cries from Alys' cello. 

Coulson raised his eyes and sat up a little straighter. He stared at his girl through the gaps in the steering wheel and watched her play. She was completely enraptured by the piece, head tilted slightly back, eyes closed, and she swayed gently with the ebbs and flows of her bow. That face. That smile, those cheeks, that nose, that neck. Tracing her features with his gaze was like walking down a long-familiar path. He knew every dip and curve of that road, and all the wonderful places it lead, and he remembered when his touches and kisses could worship everything along that road. 

Phil watched as the perfect image of beauty was once more coupled with the perfect counterpart in sound. He was transported back to the countless hours he had spent sitting in that old wing-backed chair in her practice room, listening to her play. He was entranced back then, and he was entranced now. Listening to her play, watching her play, it was soothing, and heartbreaking, and sexy, and ethereal. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. He could have sat there for days as long as she didn't stop playing. 

But then, almost ten minutes later, the conductor tapped his baton and waved his arms animatedly to stop the musicians and offer some sort of critique. As soon as the music stopped, the spell was broken and Coulson remembered how dangerous this was. He gulped and reached up to dry his cheeks, only just now noticing they were damp. Soon, he was turning the key to start the van again. 

And again, Sky's hand stilled him. "No, wait, look," she said. 

Coulson looked to see the conductor answer his phone and walk away from the rehearsal. All of the musicians turned and started to talk to each other and occupy themselves with other things to kill time. 

"They're taking a break," Skye said. "Now's your chance." 

"Chance to do what?" Coulson asked, surprised that he was able to speak at all. 

"To go talk to her." 

Coulson scoffed. "I can't _talk_ to her! She can't even know I was here!" 

"But why not?" Skye asked fervently. "No one from SHIELD will ever have to know! It's only the three of us here, and we won't tell! See? It's the perfect opportunity! You can just go talk for a minute, let her know you're-" 

"No," Coulson said firmly. "I can't." 

"Yes you can!" 

" _No, I can't!_ " Coulson almost yelled, turning in his seat violently to look at Skye directly. She moved back slightly in surprise. 

"Can't you see this is _torture_?" he asked in earnest. "To look at her, be _this_ close to her, and know that I will never get to-" he cut himself off as a quick and unauthorized tear dashed down his face. He bowed his head and gave it a quick, tight shake. There were too many ways he could finish that sentence. _Never get to hold her again. Touch her. Kiss her. Please her. Talk with her. Laugh with her. Dance with her. Argue with her. Walk with her. Cry with her. Be with her._ Every thought was like a brick to his ribs. How could he possibly explain this? How could he ever make Skye understand? He composed himself and tried his best to continue. "To see her like this, and know, that we will never get to be together again, that...that someone else is going to go through this life getting to hold her and love her and have those eyes look at him everyday." His stomach was in knots, and every fiber of his being hated and envied whoever that man would be. He also hated that he couldn't manage to keep the tears from spilling down his face now. The one satisfaction he had was that he was still able to control his voice well enough, "This is torture, Skye," he said at last. "...And I won't put her through it." 

Skye rocked back slightly from the reproach. It was now painfully clear to her that this experience had been more wounding for him than healing. Once again, Skye regretted ever opening that drawer and seeing that ring. If this truly was as painful as it seemed for him, then this was the last thing she ever wanted to do to him. 

Coulson looked at her evenly. "It's the _proximity_ , Skye, that makes the separation so painful. If she thinks I'm dead, then she'll never have to know how close we really are, and she'll be able to cope with being apart. She'll be able to move on." 

A long silence drew out. Coulson just stared at Skye, half because he wanted to make sure she really heard what he was saying, and half because he was afraid to face the stage again. Skye just looked down at her hands, like a puppy chastised for getting into the trash. Ward remained silent from the front seat and refused to look at either of them. He knew this was a bad idea, and now he was kicking himself for ever letting it happen in the first place. 

Eventually, Coulson turned back around, keeping his eyes low, refusing to look back at the stage, and turned the key in the ignition for the fortieth time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This chapter was begun before the new "cellist cannon" was introduced in episode 10 of this season. I debated changing the details in this chapter to correlate with the show, but eventually decided against it, opting instead to stick with the cannon of what ConcertiGrossi created in "Second Fiddles" (See chapter 2 Author's Note for details). The differences aren't major (just the fact that Ward hadn't already been told about the cellist by Coulson, that the title of Alys' organization is "Oregon Symphony Orchestra" instead of the "Portland Symphony," and that she's the first chair instead of the second), but they are there, so this story is in a slight AU as a result. Still, I hope these little variations haven't been too distracting for you, and I hope you will enjoy the next chapter. I hope to have it up soon.


	4. By Proxy

As soon as she heard the engine roar to life, something snapped inside Skye and she felt somehow emboldened. "Well," she said, "If you won't talk to her..." she reached over and grabbed a notebook and pencil that had been sitting on the surveillance equipment in the back of the van. "...then I will."

"What?" Coulson asked in alarm, looking over his shoulder to see Skye moving towards the door. "No, no, no. Bad idea! You stay here," he said, watching as Skye's hand landed on the door handle. 

"Coulson, we've come too far for you to turn around now. I know you don't want her to see you and, okay, that makes sense. But at least listen over the radio." 

"No, Skye. We're going back right now." 

But Skye was already opening the door. 

"If you get out of this van, Skye, I swear-" She climbed out and slammed the door before Coulson could finish his warning. "Damn it!" Coulson cursed, smashing his hands onto the steering wheel aggressively. He wanted to jump out and go catch Skye by the arm, drag her back to the van and throw her inside. But he was trapped in that driver's seat. He couldn't even honk for fear that it would draw attention to the van and Alys would see him. 

"Ward," he commanded, "go after her!" 

But Ward just sat there. "Sir, you and I know exactly what would happen if I tried," he gave his boss a pointed look. Skye would stubbornly refuse to come back to the van, and if he tried to bring her back by force, she would probably cause enough of a scene that Coulson's cellist would be inclined to look their way. When Skye got like this, there was no stopping her, and both occupants of the van knew it. 

Coulson cursed again when the other agent did nothing. "You are _both_ going on disciplinary action when we get back!" 

Skye could hear the protests from her superior through her earpiece as she descended the steps into the concert arena. She felt bad for getting Ward in trouble, but she was committed now. She hoped that she was doing the right thing. Sometimes she thought she should just quit while she's ahead, but this whole endeavor had gone too far south too fast. She just wanted to find some way to salvage it. She knew better than anyone else what it was like to be separated from someone she loved. She would give anything just to hear the sound of their voices. Deep down, even though Coulson was livid right now, Skye knew this was the right thing to do. 

She approached the stage and held the notebook and pencil officially. "Miss Simon?" she asked. 

Alys looked up from her cell phone at the sound of her name. "Yes?" she responded, looking at the unfamiliar young lady in confusion. 

The voice came over Phil's earpiece and his heart leapt. It was just one word, one little word, but his ears had missed hearing that voice so much. It was like a rain drop in a desert. One word was enough to make him forget his anger towards Skye...for now. 

"Hi," Skye said, stepping forward with a friendly smile. She reached her hand up to the woman on the stage. "I'm Skye. I'm a journalism student at the University of Portland and I was hoping to get an interview for an assignment. We have to write a piece about an 'artistic local figure.' Someone from the concert hall gave me your name, said you'd be interested in helping me out?" 

Alys looked a little confused as she stood from her chair and walked to the front of the stage, taking the girl's hand. "Oh, and...who was it you talked to?" she asked. 

"Oh," Skye looked embarrassed as she pretended to think back, "I don't remember his name. He was an older guy...with glasses?" 

"Samuel Cohen?" Alys asked, looking slightly surprised. 

Skye snapped her fingers, "That's it, yeah, Mr. Cohen." 

Alys nodded vaguely, "And what did you say your last name was?" 

"Uhh..." Skye tried not to let the hesitation draw out too long. She said the first name that came to mind. "Ward. Skye Ward." 

Back in the van, Ward tried not to notice as his superior officer cocked a questioning eyebrow in his direction. 

"Creative," Alys said with an amused smirk. "Well, miss Ward, I don't remember Sam mentioning anything about this to me, but I suppose I do have a few minutes." As she spoke, she came around to descend the few steps of the stage and join Skye on the main level. 

Skye smiled, "Thank you so much! I really appreciate it! So," she cleared her throat as they both took a seat on the edge of the stage. 

Skye started off with some basic questions: how to spell her name, where she grew up, how she got involved with music. Alys politely answered each question, feeling slightly flattered by the unexpected attention. Skye wanted to direct the conversation more towards her relationship with Coulson, but she didn't want to use some awful segue like, "So, have any dead boyfriends?" 

Luckily, the conversation drifted that way organically. 

"So, tell me about this concert. Why is it outside?" Skye asked. 

Alys looked around at the concert arena. "Well, we wanted someplace public that would attract a lot of people. It's a benefit concert for the New York Relief Fund. You know, even though it's been almost a year, they're still doing cleanup there. Not to mention all of the emotional turmoil for the families of the victims. Half of our proceeds from tonight will go to the cleanup efforts in downtown Manhattan, and the other half will go to the Rhyse Family Clinic, which specialized in helping the families of victims cope with their loss." 

"Wow, that's really incredible," Skye said with a genuine smile. She was really starting to like this woman. This benefit concert was exactly the sort of humanitarianism that appealed to Skye. It was why she joined the Rising Tide, and ultimately why she joined SHIELD too: to help people. "So, why this charity specifically? Do you have connections to New York?" 

Alys nodded, looking down at her hands. "Yes, actually. I lived there before coming here to Portland," she paused before adding, "And, I also lost someone in the Battle of New   York...so this cause is very important to me." 

Bingo. 

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry to hear that!" Skye said sympathetically. Truly, her heart did go out to Alys. The look in her eyes told stories of obvious hurt and grief for the poor woman, and it was all Skye could do not to tell her the truth right then and there. 

Alys forced a smile. "It's okay," she said softly. "It's getting easier to talk about now." 

Skye let the silence play out a little longer. "May I ask who it was?" 

"His name was Phil. He was my..." Alys let her gaze drop down to her lap, smiling softly. "He was my husband." 

In the van, Ward looked over at Coulson. A sweet smile spread across the older agent's face. He hadn't expected her to say that, but it made his day. It made his life! 

Skye smiled too, but tried to make it look sympathetic. The good miss Simon had taken a liberty just then, and Skye knew it. But she also knew that it must have been telling of exactly how deeply the two of them cared for each other. 

It was then that Skye remembered Coulson's words from several weeks ago, when she first discovered the ring in his desk. "I think she would have married me when I asked her," he had said. 

 _Well, yeah AC, I'm guessing she probably would have,_ Skye mused inwardly. 

Outwardly, she looked at the cellist with a warm expression. "Tell me about him?" she asked gently. 

Alys looked surprised by the question. She hadn't thought that was the sort of thing the college student would want to write about. But a subtle, beautiful smile graced her face and she replied, "I'd love to." 

She started to tell the basics, that Phil worked for the government and had to be very secretive about his job. That they both shared a love for history and memorabilia from the past. In fact, their first interaction was as opponents in a heated bidding war over such an item. "I won," Alys informed proudly (and Coulson rolled his eyes in the van). As she continued to speak, Alys retrieved her phone and pulled up a picture to show Skye. 

The hacker looked at the two-person selfie with a smile. _So, Mr. Suits_ does _have some normal clothes,_ she thought, seeing the seasoned agent clad in a simple maroon shirt and jean jacket. Both Alys and Coulson beamed at the camera, tipping the sides of their faces together to make sure they were in frame. Skye had never seen him so happy. The man wore a perpetual smile on his face, the disarming kind of smile that always made you wonder if it was because he felt something or because he knew something, but this particular smile was one she had never seen on him before. She couldn't put her finger on the difference, but it looked good. He looked normal. He looked happy. 

Skye glanced up at Alys, who was leaning over to also view the picture. The cellist smiled and pulled away. "You two make a beautiful couple," Skye said, returning the phone. 

"Thank you," she replied, "I was pretty crazy about him...even though he _was_ sort of a paradox," she said. 

Skye furrowed her brow. "In what way?" 

Alys sighed, "Well, on the one hand, he appeared so ordinary. Just a soft spoken, cleanly cut guy in a suit and tie. But...I also knew that his job could get really dangerous at times. I mean guns- and knives-type dangerous. So he was all...Jimmy Stewart with me, and like, Bruce Willis out there at work." 

Skye snorted at the comparison. "Tiger at work and a teddy bear at home kind of thing?" she asked. 

Alys nodded, "I guess." She looked down at the image on the phone and added, "But a really sexy teddy bear." 

They went on talking and Alys' eyes lit up as she oozed affection for this man who meant the world to her. It was like déjà vu for Skye. She had already watched Coulson do this same thing only a few weeks ago, and now, watching his cellist mimic his enthusiasm felt like such a privilege for Skye. She found the whole situation very endearing. 

"It was the little things about him that I loved the most," Alys explained. "The wrinkles by his eyes when he smiled. The expression he'd get when he concentrated on something he was reading. The way he'd always rub my arms or back whenever I wore my purple sweater because it was kind of fuzzy he liked the way it felt." That one caused her to laugh a little. Skye watched as a small tear glimmered in the woman's eye, but a moment later, a solid blink and a good sniff calmed it down again. 

"We were both busy people," she went on, "and it was always hit-or-miss whether we would even be in the same city at the same time, so the little moments we got to steal away were some of the most special. He wasn't overly extravagant so we ate in more than we ate out. He would make us something. He was a genius in the kitchen, and I was utterly hopeless, so most days I just leaned against the counter and watched him work. Have you ever seen a gorgeous man cook?"                                                                               

Skye just shook her head. Truth was, she had. To be more specific, Skye had actually seen Coulson cook. The day after a particularly rough mission, after the team had been chewed out by HQ for going "off book," Coulson endeavored to lift everyone's spirits by making them dinner. It was some kind of cheesy pasta thing with a generous helping of wine sauce. Delicious. But Alys didn't need to know that. 

The cellist just dropped her jaw subtly at Skye to emphasize her point. "With a hand towel over his shoulder and a wooden spoon in his hand? Mmm. Put it on your to-do list, kid, I'm telling you." 

Skye smiled with a nod, "Will do."  

Alys returned the smile. "He was tidy, too," she added. "Phil never left a dish dirty. I wasn't much help in the kitchen when it came to the cooking, but cleaning dishes was something I could do. It was one of my favorite parts of the evening actually. Standing side-by-side with him at the sink. Or sometimes...he would stand behind me and reach around. And we'd both work on the same dish, taking turns holding it and scrubbing it. We took longer than necessary but, at that point...it wasn't really about the dishes anymore." 

The woman smiled, eyes far off in some memory. She could still feel Phil's hands, covered in soapy suds and drifting over her own, up her arms, his lips somewhere on her neck. She had no idea that, just a few yards away, gripped around a steering wheel, two hands remembered the same thing. 

"We got such water bills," she concluded softly, her smile fixed in place. 

But then she seemed to remember where she was, and that she was being interviewed by a total stranger. "But look at me," she said, sitting up a little straighter and softening out the wrinkles in her blouse. "Just jabbering away. I'm sure you don't need any of that for your paper." 

"No, no!" Skye assured. "That's exactly the kind of thing that will make my article feel real, you know? That personal touch." 

"Well," Alys said, turning off the screen on her phone and putting it away. "The truth was, Phil Coulson was a good man. He was kind and idealistic, with a heart of gold. The report was just a list of names and it didn't say how any of them died, but I know that Phil was the type of man to be right in the middle of all of that chaos, working to pull a stranger out of the wreckage and get them to safety. There's no doubt in my mind that's how he died. It's just the sort of man he was. Noble, selfless...a hero." 

Now Alys' tear finally made it out. She wiped it away quickly, "Put that in your article." 

Skye nodded. "I will." 

Both women were silent for a time. Alys was admirably trying to fight off the flow of tears and Skye just didn't know what to say. The world felt extra cruel then, as Skye watched this poor woman pine and grieve for a man who was a matter of steps away. She knew that two simple words could put an end to that suffering. She knew that all she had to do was point and it could all be over. But Skye also remembered Coulson's words from the van, and she knew that he was right. They could never be together again and the proximity was what really made it hurt. It was like a special brand of pain, and there was a pang of sympathy in Skye's heart knowing that Coulson would have to endure that special pain for quite sometime. But he was right, there was no reason why Alys should have to feel it too. As horrible as it was, things actually were better this way. So Skye bit her tongue. After a time, she reached over and grabbed the cellist's hand. 

"Well, wherever Phil is now," Skye began softly, restraining herself from the pull to look over at the van. "I know that he's watching out for you. And if he could tell you anything, I'm sure he'd say that..." 

Skye paused and waited. It took Coulson a moment to realize what she was doing, but he soon straightened in his seat and cleared his throat, wondering if he still had a voice. "That I love her," he choked out. 

"...he loves you," Skye said. She heard a ragged intake of breath from her earpiece as he finished. 

"And I never meant to leave her," he gasped, shaking his head and pinching his lips together in a tight grimace. He felt the tears roll down his cheeks, but he was done caring about them. 

Skye took in a shaky breath before delivering the message. "And he never meant to leave you," she finally said, shaking her head and squeezing the other woman's hand a little tighter. 

Alys was visibly taken aback. Her face contorted into a mix of astonishment and heartbreak, and several anxious tears broke free from her eyes. She let loose a single sob and brought a hand up to cover her mouth. She shook her head in wonder at the young journalist. The girl would never know how much it meant for her to say those words. She squeezed Skye's hand in return, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Thank you," she said. "You have no idea how badly I needed to hear that." 

Skye just nodded encouragingly. "Well, it's the truth." 

A long silence drew out between them once again. Alys tried to compose herself, as well as avoid the concerned gazes of her fellow musicians who observed the quiet conversation from a distance. A violinist approached from the stage and handed Alys a handkerchief from his pocket. She accepted it gratefully and took a few more minutes to pull herself together. After she had recovered her aplomb, Alys looked back at Skye with her beautiful smile. "So...will you be staying for the concert?" she asked. 

Skye returned the smile, but shook her head sadly. "Afraid not, I have a deadline to make," she said, tapping the notebook with her pencil. 

"Oh, of course," Alys replied understandingly. 

"But," Skye added, reaching into her jacket pocket. "I would love to give to your charity." She pulled out a few folded dollars from behind her phone case. "I don't really carry much cash on me anymore, but..." she counted it in a flash, "I've got four bucks here." 

Alys gave a small laugh as she accepted the money. "Believe me, every bit counts. That's so thoughtful of you." Then raising the few dollars into the air she announced to the group, "Hey everyone! Our first donation!" 

The orchestra broke out in various cheers and the percussionist slammed the cymbals together, which caused everyone to laugh. "Hey! Give that woman a CD!" the conductor called. 

"Oh yeah!" Alys responded happily, boosting herself off of the stage and heading over to a nearby table. She came back with a small CD in hand. "This is a live recording we just did on our tour around the east coast last week. Hot off the presses. We're giving them away as incentives to donate, today only." 

Skye accepted the gift with a smile, "Well, I'm honored. Thank you." 

"Thank _you_ , Skye," Alys extended her hand. "It was a real pleasure meeting you." 

"Same to you," the hacker replied, standing and shaking her hand. "You have no idea." 

The two finished their goodbyes and then Skye turned and started to walk away from the stage. In her ear, she heard Ward's voice give the order, "Do not come straight back to the van. Repeat: Divert behind the shopping center. We'll pick you up by the northern entrance." 

Skye raised a hand to her ear discretely and acknowledged the order. When she climbed back into the van, it was eerily silent. Ward looked over his shoulder and just gave her an approving nod before turning forward again. Coulson refused to look at anyone. 

Skye leaned forward and tapped the CD lightly against Coulson's arm. He looked down at it and paused. The cover was crowded with 80 smiling musicians and their instruments, but his eyes only landed on one. After a brief moment, he took the album and placed it in his lap. As he flipped his turn signal to pull out of the parking lot, he cast one more look in his side mirror. He could barely see the stage. Pressing the gas pedal was one of the hardest actions of his life. 

But he did it. 

"Skye?" he called quietly, finally looking at the young agent in the rearview mirror. 

She met his gaze nervously, and was relieved when he gave her a little nod. 

"Thanks," he said. 

She nodded back. "You're welcome." 

When they got back to the bus, all three returning agents were silent. Simmons, Fitz, and May all stood and watched as the others solemnly boarded the plane. May waited and exchanged a wordless conversation with Ward before turning and heading back to the cockpit, apparently content with his answer. The two scientists looked expectantly at Skye, but she just shook her head and quietly said, "I'll tell you later." 

No one said a word to Coulson, and he didn't give them much time to anyway. He kept his eyes low and headed straight to his office, the only words out of his mouth being "Wheels up, May," when he caught a glimpse of her on his way up his stairs. 

The pilot dutifully obeyed and the team was in the air within minutes. 

Later that night, Skye began to grow concerned. No one had seen Coulson since they had returned to the bus and that had been over six hours ago. She climbed the stairs to his office with a subtle gulp, but she paused before actually making it to his door. 

She smiled sadly to herself and turned to descend the steps once again, the soft melodies of orchestral music floating through the door behind her. Somehow, she knew he would be okay. And she had a feeling she and the others would be hearing that music from his office a lot, but that was fine by her. 

Skye had just decided that she liked classical music. 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thank you all so much, those of you who have followed this story. What was originally just a oneshot has blossomed into a quaint little story and I have your reviews to thank for that. I must also thank ConcertiGrossi, for both inspiration and permission to use the fabulous Alys Simon in my story. For those of you who haven't done so yet, go read "Second Fiddles."The character of Alys Simon originated in that story, and the first 5 chapters serve as the background for this fic. It's a fabulous story, the best Coulson story I've ever read, and it's profoundly well-written. 
> 
> And for those of you who enjoyed my little story here, I would deeply value any comments you could leave for me. I am desperate to know what you think and every comment really does matter to me, good or bad. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and take care!
> 
> \--Monker

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I am, in no way, a science person. So Simmons' jargon in this story is entirely made up and, if it sounds ridiculous, I'm really sorry.


End file.
